


Pleasure Or The Lack There Of

by UmbralJxrk



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Alcohol, Choking, M/M, SADOMASO, Suggestive Themes, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UmbralJxrk/pseuds/UmbralJxrk
Summary: Oneshot.Serpine's red right hand truly is a curious thing. It granted so many the most painful of deaths, Skulduggery Pleasant included, yet only granted life to one. Lord Vile finds himself drawn to its necromantic energy and the accidental duality of its twisted nature.
Relationships: Lord Vile/Nefarian Serpine
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Pleasure Or The Lack There Of

**Author's Note:**

> This was written about a year ago for the Vile/Serpine prompt from the skeletondetectivekinkmeme. It was meant to be longer and involve actual smut, but I have frankly no idea how Vile would even do the do, so I'm leaving that up to your imagination.
> 
>  **Side Note:** While I believe that Vile is just Skulduggery’s alter ego, his armour trenched in his own hatred and anger and not a split personality like Darquesse is to Valkyrie, I had to write Vile as the latter to write this prompt in a way that makes sense.

The thrill of bloodshed, murder and mayhem, the addicting euphoria of power, power over others, of life and death, were the only two pleasures Vile knew, with joys of food and drink being denied to him along with the intoxicating effects of alcohol, cigarettes and drugs, without a tongue to taste or lungs to breathe. The memories of such delights were blurred, distant, and not his own. Skulduggery had experienced blissful companionship, friends, a wife. He had been the one to celebrate, to eat and drink and smoke and laugh and dance. By the time Vile had finally gained control over their shared body and pushed the other far into the back of his subconscious, their corporal form had been broken, torn apart and put back together to the point only bones remained. 

Bones. Anger. Confusion. Hatred. And so much envy.

Lord Vile was king on the battlefield, answering to Mevolent alone. Wherever he stepped people backed away, foes and allies alike, fear reflecting ever so clearly within their eyes. But during the celebrations afterwards he was nothing but a shadow, sulking in the darkest corner of the room, arms crossed and leaning against the wall. Mevolent insisted that all of his generals would have to be present during such an important event. Vile despised it and he despised the people dancing and drinking the night away even more. How easy it would be to turn the entire ballroom into bloody carnage if it weren't for their master sitting high on his throne, watching his subjects.

As much as he was trying to ignore him, each time his gaze ended up fixed on Nefarian Serpine, that worthless hedonistic fuck. Self-restraint appeared to be an alien concept to that bastard as he gave into each and every earthly delight this world had to offer in a heartbeat if given the opportunity. Off-duty he was rarely ever found without a wine glass in hand or a fag clamped between those thin lips. Neither was his excessive drug use a secret. Curiously, so very different from the sanctuaries, drugs use of various sorts were widely spread and socially accepted among the church members. It was a pleasure even Mevolent himself indulged in, although for supposed religious purposes. It was yet another pleasure denied to Vile himself.

Serpine noticed Vile staring at him, raising his glass and winking at him with that god-forsaken grin plastered over his face. He appeared equally drunk as the girl in his arms, giggling at every word he said as she leaned against him. Vile scowled beneath the helmet and vanished, reappearing in an empty corridor where the noises of the celebration were dulled, Mevolent's wishes be damned.

The celebration was nearing its end when Nefarian strode through the empty castle halls in search of Baron, drunk and wanting to spend the night with his lover. Instead he found Vile, alone and staring out of a window at the night sky.

"I'm curious. How is it that you never seem to be enjoying yourself." Serpine's voice ripped Vile out of his thoughts, his shadows twitching in irritation. "You have your own fair share of admirers, you know." The necromancer didn't answer, didn't even bother turning to look at him, though his shadows seemed to have spiked up.

"Are you even listening to me?" Frowning, Serpine reached out to touch the tallers shoulder, just to suddenly find himself shoved against the nearest wall, an armoured hand wrapped around his throat, the claws of the gauntlet digging into his soft skin. One hand instinctively shot up to grab the others wrist while his right one was pinned against the wall besides his head. For a moment emerald eyes were wide in fear, before Nefarian's features twisted in a drunken fury. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing!", the serpent hissed, coiling beneath Vile's grip. "Unhand this instant, y-!" His words were cut off by a gagging noise when Vile tightened his hold around his throat. He tried to speak but the words would not come out. The taller man placed his forehead against the Adept’s, the coldness of the armor burning Serpine's porcelain skin as Vile watched him struggle for breath, kicking and clawing at the wrist holding him in place. Slowly the struggling got weaker and weaker, his pale face flushed red and his mouth agape, desperate trying to suck in the much needed air. Watery emerald eyes were staring up to him, wide and desperate, silently pleading for mercy, and... Something else, Vile could not quite place his finger on. Until his gaze wandered down the smaller male's body.

“You’re sick.” Vile growled, letting go of the other’s throat. Serpine sacked against the wall, greedily sucking in the air and crossing his legs in a pathetic attempt to hide his tent. A shadow wrapped around his left arm, keeping him upright along with the iron grasp around his right wrist. Vile could feel the necromantic energy within that terrible red hand pulsating along to its owner’s rapid heartbeat. The feeling was dulled due to the glove, but when it was in use _–oh, when it caused so much pain and delicious death!-_ it was like a flare in the blackened sky. Vile was drawn to death, yes, but the connection between him and this god-forsaken device was different, stronger. It was what had given him life and Skulduggery death.

Having gotten a chance to recover, Serpine’s breathing was finally evening out, though the bright blush on his cheeks remained. Looking up to the taller through wet eyelashes he noticed the other’s focus on his red right hand. At the moment, the necromancer didn’t seem keen on killing him, surprisingly enough. Nervously chewing his lower lip, he slipped one leg between Vile’s, teasingly rubbing it against his inner thigh. Shadowy tendrils instantly wrapped around his ankles and forced his heels back against the wall in a wide stance. Letting out a startled gasp, Nefarian’s gaze shot up to find Vile staring down on him, his expression unreadable behind the visor. He knew flirting with Lord Vile was a stupid idea, but a few too many drinks and hornyness were the perfect mix for horrible decision making.

“You are enjoying this aren’t you?” The Adept purred, still panting a little from the previous strangelation. His throat still ached oh so delightfully. “Your hand around my throat with me _at your mercy_.”

Vile tilted his head at him in a strangely familiar way. Nefarian felt the other’s shadows winded up his legs and arms, wrapping around waist and chest as though they had a life of their own. He didn’t know what this meant, but it couldn’t be good. Regardless, he could feel his breathing getting heavier as they felt so very similar to the ropes Baron liked to bind him with, stringing them in diamond patterns across his body.

“You enjoy hurting me.” His smile seemed so misplaced accompanying those words. Instead of answering, Vile moved his free hand to frame Nefarian’s jaw, pushing his head back and forcing him to look up to him. His thumb trailed over thin lips, before slipping it into the other’s mouth. Obediently, Nefarian began to suckle on it, letting out a muffled moan as its claw was pushed into his tongue, drawing blood. 

“Do you feel my shadows wrapped around your body?” Vile pushed his thumb further in, making it impossible for the other to answer, so instead, he bit down. His incisors dug into the joint of the gauntlet, trying to push past where the two metal plates of the thumb piece met, yet only found more umbral resistance. There was no groan of pain, not even a flinch. Starring up to him, Nefarian tried to apply more pressure, but in vain. Even the armour's weakest spots were impenetrable.

“It would be so easy to have them spike out, to leave you a bloody, crying and sobbing mess on the ground.” His voice was a low growl. Finally the Adept gave up, his jaw aching. Vile pulled his thumb out of the other’s mouth, slowly, dragging it down and cutting his bottom lip open, before suddenly raising his hand. Cold, hard metal connected with Nefarian’s cheek, his head snapping to the side. The sheer force of the hit would have taken him off his feet had it not been for shadowy restraints keeping him in place and standing.

It took him a few moments to compose himself, gasping and drawing shaky breaths, partly because of shock that the other would dare to lie his hands on Mevolent’s most trusted general like this, partly because of masochistic excitement. His flesh was hot and starting to swell where the other had struck him. Nefarian licked his lips, lapping up the blood, before he raised his head and began to speak.

“ _Now_ , where would be the fun in that? To leave me here all alone. How much more pleasant it would be to stay by my side, to hear me cry out your name as you thrust your hard blade into me over and over and over again.” Those words dripped like honey from his tongue and although Vile lacked the skin to redden, his usually so cold armour seemed to heat up. His hand slipped from the smaller’s right wrist and intertwined with his fingers instead. He could feel its power even through the glove, dull, but certainly there. It was a warm, tingling sensation and a comfortable shiver ran up his spine. It felt so… _good_.

Once again he placed his forehead against Nefarian’s. The armour was still cool, but this time not painfully so. “Do you want to get hurt?” 

Nefarian grinned as he answered. “Do your worst.”

And with that the two of them vanished cloaked in darkness and reappeared in what Serpine assumed to be Vile’s personal quarters.

A chance to torture Serpine, to give that snake what he deserved, without Mevolent punishing him for it afterwards was just too good an opportunity to let slip by. Or at least that’s what Vile told himself as he pushed Nefarian on the bed, pinning him below him.


End file.
